


press any key to start

by sailorharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorharry/pseuds/sailorharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Direction are characters in a game and you play as Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	press any key to start

**Author's Note:**

> this is a v short v shitty experimental fic based on bl games lmaooooo. bl games are basically where you play as a character and make choices to try and get the romantic ending with a character you want

_What is your name?_

Stumped by the first question, you pause and think. What _is_ your name? What should it be? You go through a list but settle for Harry because it is you and it is honest. The screen hums and purrs, blinks. 

_Hello, Harry._

 

 

So you are twenty one and you are part of the biggest boy band in the world. There are three other members and they are gorgeous and funny and fit – but your heart is set on the bleach blond whose head is too big for his body, legs too small. He sticks to you like glue and laughs at whatever you do. At first endearing and then far too annoying but you become addicted to the sound and before you know it, you’re falling on stage on purpose to hear him laugh and insult you with a muttered _‘idiot’_. Yes, you’re an idiot but so is he and oh, you are pixels and colours combined but you feel so alive. 

“Harry!” He calls above the roar of the crowd. He grabs you into a warm, sticky hug on the stage of a concert you can’t remember where, can’t remember when.

(The days all blur and though it says day one thousand four hundred and sixty, you’re sure it couldn’t have been that long). 

He moves up to wrap his arms around you and you pull him in closer. He smells like guitar strings and leather straps and you press yourself against him just for a second, just so you can feel his heat against yours. “You are very sweaty!” You say when you part and he laughs before you skip off. 

“So are you!” He says and oh, if you’d have known the future after, you might have held him a little longer, memorised the way his fingers press into your skin, the way he pushes himself up to meet you half way.

(But you’re a singer, not a psychic and who could’ve predicted a year long hiatus?)

 

 

_You’ve been offered a solo contract. Will you accept?_

_Yes._

_No._

 

 

You accept. You accept because what else is there to do? The world keeps turning and you need to keep moving and turn with it, you can’t fall behind. Louis and Liam find their own thing too, writing songs for famous artists, starting campaigns to raise funds for charity. 

But you – you were born to be a popstar. Or so they say. And you don’t know better so you follow it. They must be right because you don’t remember much of yourself but you know this: when you’re on stage, your blood thrums and your skin feels like fire and you’ll do whatever it takes to keep this feeling alive. 

Of course, your band members are all supportive of you when you tell them. Liam slaps you on the back good-naturedly and Louis raves on about how he’ll write you a hit song. And Niall – well. Niall smiles at you like always. But his is one tight-lipped and taunt around the edges and you can’t help but feel that yes, he is happy for you but he could be happier. 

“What are you gonna do?” You ask him when Louis and Liam have gone off to get some beers to celebrate. You’re all stuck in a hotel room because who can go outside when everyone knows your name? And you decide a little calm is needed right now. Niall hums and flops onto the bed and you move to sit beside him. Splayed out before you, he is an expanse of pale skin and a thousand freckles and you would count all of them up, memorise each one. 

“Dunno yet. Goin’ to golf tomorrow. Maybe a safari the next.” He says and it is so typically Niall that you don’t question it. It’s not what you mean but Niall is not dumb and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, you won’t push him. 

“Sounds fun.” You settle with and watch as Niall’s hand comes dangerously close to lie next to yours. You don’t know why, but for some strange reason you have an urge to hold it, compare the colour of your skin and the size of your palms. 

Niall hums, turns to look at you through pale lashes and oh, when did this fondness turn into something darker? “You headin’ off to L.A. then?” He asks. 

“It’s like my second home.”

“It _is_ your home now.” Niall says, sounding half bitter, and you want to know what he means by that. But Louis and Liam come bouncing in with beers and food and you choose to sleep, watch as day one thousand five hundred and twenty three rolls on next.

 

 

_It’s 2:34am. Who will you call?_

_Niall._

_Louis._

_Liam._

 

 

What day is it? You can’t remember but it feels like you’ve been in L.A. for too long. Alone in your bed and you smell like sweat and drinks and the cum stain from last night. You feel so out of place – maybe because you haven’t been home in an age, maybe because you haven’t talked to the boys for even longer – and you can’t take this anymore, this feeling of belonging not here, not there. Your body in L.A, your heart in London and you are being torn at the seams. 

Your phone blinks nearly half past two in the morning and you lie there just thinking who to call, whether to call. You know you need to talk to someone right now but your thumb hovers over names you don’t remember, people you can’t recall and then – 

With a thrumming in your chest, you dial his number, not sure whether you want to hear his voice or his voicemail message. 

_Click._

“Hullo?” His voice calls after you count to eight, husky and deep from sleep, and it makes you unbearably homesick. 

“Niall. It’s – it’s Harry.” You say, stuttering and nervous and you wonder when it had become like this. You can hardly say his name without choking and it feels unreal, those times when you could hug him without a second thought in front of thousands of people, grab his crotch on live television and whisper in his ear. 

The line goes silent, as if he’s wondering if he knows a Harry, which Harry and god, how long has it really been? “The fuck? Why you callin’ me fo’? Isn’t it like four in the morning where you at?” He says, so typically Niall and you chuckle into the receiver, relieved.

“Two, actually.”

He scoffs at you and suddenly, you don’t feel so at ease. “Big difference.”

“Sorry I – are you busy? I can hang up.” You can but you don’t want to, because you chose him, _you chose him_ and you want him to choose you too. 

“S’alright.” He says and he sounds quieter now, soft. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can’t I just chat?” You ask but even to you it sounds like a lie and Niall catches it in a hearbeat.

“Mate, if you wanted to chat, you could have called me anytime. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? It’s difficult to explain. It’s not loneliness because you’re not lonely – so many people in so many weeks and you have enough to keep you company – just not any you want as company for nights like these. You settle for the truth and hold your breath. “I miss you.” 

This time he laughs and though it isn’t as clear as you remember, isn’t as loud, it sets you ablaze like no crowd can. “Miss you too, fur ball. L.A doing you no good?”

“No, it’s fine. I just – ” You bite your tongue until it bleeds. “Are you coming for the awards show?”

“Nah, not nominated for anything am I?” And you can picture him shaking his head even though you can’t see it, a habit of his you’ve kept close.

“I am.” And shit, that wasn’t the right thing to say but you quickly brush it off and hope Niall doesn’t pay it attention. “Louis and Liam are gonna be there too.” You think so anyway, it’s what the fans say at least. 

Niall hums into the receiver, as if he’s seriously contemplating flying to California just to go to an award show he isn’t nominated for because you asked. “Alright, I’ll see.” He says and you make yourself believe him. “You should sleep. Night.” And he hangs up just like that and leaves you with the beep, beep, beep of an empty line to keep you company.

(But you don’t hold it against him for long, not when he shows up a week later at your house to celebrate your nomination, cheers out your name when you take home the win.)

 

 

_You’re invited to an after party at a club. Niall asks if you want to join him and the boys for some pints._

_Go to the club._

_Go with the boys._

 

 

You and Niall are pressed up tightly on one side of a booth, so close your thighs touch and your legs end up in a tangled mess. He is so warm against your skin and you drink in the flush of his cheeks and the way his hair sticks to his skin. He smells like alcohol, tastes like sweat when you press your mouth against his neck (because it’s what friends do, what you’ve done to him since forever, you convince yourself) and you can’t recall a time when your face has hurt from laughing so much. When Louis and Liam leave to get more drinks, you are left staring at the way Niall draws circles on his glass, runs his fingers over the woodgrain of the table as if he’s drawing. 

“I’m stayin’ here for a couple days.” He says and though the music booms loudly, his voice sounds louder. He smiles at you almost shyly, so unlike him, and you beam bright and shining. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I – I dunno. I meant it, when I said I miss you too.” He mutters and though you know his face is flush from his third beer, a part of you hopes it’s something else. 

“You can stay at mine.” You say and he laughs at you, head flying back until it rests on your shoulders. Your heart is a hummingbird but you down the rest of your beer and hope it drowns.

“Got me own place, don’t I?”

“I know but like – you can sleep over some times. You know, like before.” Before because you think you recall pictures of you and Niall back in Mullingar, your hair appallingly straight, and you want to live it out for yourself, the two of you lying together in bed staring into a dodgy webcam. It’s a domesticity you long for, a domesticity you can’t have but you want it all the same. 

Niall chuckles to himself and closes his eyes, melts against you until your bodies fit together naturally. _Thud, thud, thud_ goes your heart but if Niall notices, he doesn’t say a word about it. “Sure, alright. I’ll whoop your ass in some football too, how about that?” He says and you pretend to be insulted and gasp like a fish out of water. You and Niall both know that, if he had his knees, you wouldn’t stand a chance against him but you act appalled anyway. 

“Excuse you? Don’t you remember me scoring a goal at your charity match?” Because Harry remembers. Laced fingers and warm hugs, hair half flying and how could anyone forget? Oh, how could anyone forget that it was for him, that it was for Niall, wasn’t it?

“I recall a giraffe with a mop on his head. Was that you?” Niall says and you laugh into his hair and hope the past doesn’t catch up and the future takes its time.

 

 

_Your new single is out. Who is it about?_

_Yourself._

_Niall._

_Louis._

 

 

This song is about yourself. This song is about a boy naïve and young and afraid, about a man a little more sure of himself, about a person he waits to come back to him. You play it for the boys in a studio in London and watch as they nod along to it, slap you on the back with a grin.

“This is nice. It’s relatable.” Liam says after the song ends, smiling softly at you, and he looks so incredibly proud that you can’t help but feel it too. But then Louis scoffs and you are a nervous wreck all over again. 

“Relatable? Try boring. I mean, it’s a real good song, Harry. Top of the charts for sure. But it’s not relatable.”

“Maybe not for you – ” Niall begins but Louis cuts him off again. 

“Of course not for me! I don’t have time to wait for people. If I like them, I’m gonna go get them.” And oh right, your song is about yourself but it is also about a boy you have loved since long ago and who you wait for now to come to you. 

Liam is laughing now but you aren’t and you think you realise why he isn’t an option anymore when you decide to call someone and only Louis and Niall and your family pop up. Partly because of Sophia, partly because yours is a soul only few understand. “Oh, that is so you.” He says and shakes Louis fondly by the shoulders. 

Niall smiles but when he looks at you, he is all serious lines and piercing eyes. “Maybe not for you,” he resumes. “But I like it. Don’t you think it’s better when they come to you on their own, when they’re ready?” He looks at you with so much understanding, as if your songs are lines he’s engraved into his skin, and you can’t help but link your hands under the table with his. 

Louis rolls his eyes and calls Niall a sap but so are you and this is perfect.

 

 

__

_You have a flight scheduled for Los Angeles tomorrow. What will you do?_

_Board the flight._

_Cancel and stay in London._

 

 

You shouldn’t be doing this, you shouldn’t. You have promotions to do and people to meet but your legs take you to a familiar place and a familiar door and you knock without a second thought, watch as Niall opens and lets you in with a grin. 

“What are you doin’ here?” He asks, sits down next to you on the couch so close you can feel his heat through your jeans. You smile at him and knock your shoulder against his and feel like you’re sixteen again.

“Thought I’d spend a couple more days here. Got some work to do and all.” You say and Niall hums. You can practically see the clogs in his mind at work and you feel anxious about what he’ll say next. 

“Isn’t your girl back in L.A.?” He says off-headedly like he doesn’t really mean to poke at holes but he should know better and you go cold. 

“That’s just a rumour.” You say, waving it off but Niall doesn’t let go so easily. 

“No? So you don’t got a girlfriend then?” He says, pulling at thread, and he lights a fire in you that you can’t extinguish so easily. 

“Do you? What about that model you were with last Saturday?” You spit back a bit bitter, but Niall just acts clueless and god, it only infuriates you more. 

“I dunno what you’re on about.”

You splutter at him, move away from him so you can turn to look at him directly and his is a face guarded and distant and you can hardly recognise who this person is because it sure as hell can’t be your Niall. “You know, I have more reason to be worried about you then you have to be worried about me.” You say and watch as his eyebrows scrunch up.

“What’s tha’ supposed to mean?”

He’s a clueless idiot and the fire inside you burns and before you know it, your words are lit by its scalding heat. “You know! You know all those girls all those years – they’re all rumours! But you – you and… well, let’s just say if the media knew the truth, it’s not me they’d be writing articles about.” You say before you can even think twice and oh shit. Oh shit. God, you shouldn’t have said that, but this heat inside your veins is too hot and fucking shit, you can’t believe what you’ve said, let alone to who you’ve said it to. 

Niall’s face crumbles and you watch as he picks up the pieces and hides behind the guise of a lion.

(But Niall is no lion and you are no beast and this is not what you’d thought it’d be.)

“Fuck off. Just – get the fuck outta my house will ya? You’re bein’ a right twat. Don’t fuckin’ start with me when you got those guys on the side. What I do in my own time is my business, alright?” He spits at you and you tell yourself to calm down and stop, breathe and let it go. 

But you don’t. 

So many choices and you choose the wrong option and suddenly, you’re flying off the couch and making your way towards the door. “I’m the twat? I’m the – fine. Alright, I’ll leave. Have fun fuckin’ your girl, what number are you onto now?” Idiot, god, you’re such an idiot. 

“Fuck off!” Niall screams at you and you slam the door shut on you way out with a shattering bang. Pieces here, pieces there and you are running out of time, running out of choices.

 

 

_Niall is calling. Pick up?_

_Yes._

_No._

 

 

You should pick up but you don’t. Running down London’s streets like a complete idiot and you hang up, retreat to some alley and dial someone else. A wrong move, you think after, but you do it anyway without thinking twice.

“Lou – ” You start but before you can even explain, Louis cuts you off. 

“Where are you?” He says. He can probably tell that you’re going to cry any minute, your throat tight, and the words that come out of you are a strain. Leaning back on cool brick walls, you breathe in and out and in and out and try to convince yourself that you’re fine, that you don’t care.

(But you do care, you do and you don’t want to play anymore.)

“Can I come to your place? I’m still in London.” Of course, Louis obliges you because he is a good friend. Just a friend, just a friend and when you say those words, they don’t burn like when you say them about Niall.

“Yeah, sure. Come over.”

How will you get there? Cab, walk, car? You choose cab and nobody blinks twice because no middle-aged person cares on a weekday afternoon. The cabbie only asks a few questions – are you from that boyband? Can I take a picture? My daughter loves you – but it’s fine and it distracts you for a while until you reach Louis’ place and dash to his door.

He welcomes you in with warm arms and gives you disgusting tea but you down it in a minute and splutter and cough embarrassingly.

“Shit, Harry. What’s gotten you so riled up?” Louis asks and he rubs your back comfortingly. You turn to look at him and he looks so concerned, so warm and oh, maybe you’ve made a wrong decision from the start? Slowly, carefully, you move towards him. He doesn’t move back and your heart beats rapidly in your chest, your eyes fluttering shut. 

You press your lips against his, soft and warm, and he doesn’t pull away. He pushes himself closer to you and suddenly, you are a bundle of nerves and tightly wound regret. He opens his mouth and you press your tongue against his teeth, tasting cigarette smoke and the bitterness of last night and when he places his hand against your neck, you pull away almost violently because no, this is not what you imagined, this is not what you wanted. 

“Shit, shit. Sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You splutter out but Louis looks wounded and you feel more horrible than before. He tries to smile at you but you see it, _you see it_ , and oh, so it looks like you’re not the only love-struck fool in this band. 

“S’alright, Haz.” He says. What a lie because he looks like he might cry any second and you can’t look at him, turn away to stare at an empty cup and spilt tea instead. “You chose him from the start, didn’t you?” Louis says quietly. 

“Yeah, I did. I did.” 

Another smile, tight lipped and wane and Louis pats you on the knee so detached and cold that you can hardly believe you’d stuck your tongue in his mouth minutes ago. “Then, it looks like we know how this’ll end.” He says and you nod and choose again.

 

 

Seven missed calls, fourteen texts and you’re back at his door again. You’re a little more sure of yourself this time when you knock on his door. Still nervous but when you see him, your voice doesn’t shake and you stand tall. “Niall.” You say, waiting for him to shut the door or kick you out – but Niall isn’t like that at all and you realise why you’d chosen him in the first place. 

“Hey.” He says and grins at you, looking absolutely relieved, and he pulls you into a warm embrace. He grasps onto your back tightly, as if he’s a drowning man, as if he’d thought he’d lose you, and you understand him completely. He smells like sweat and grass and you press a smile into his hair, feel that this is where you belong. 

“I’m sorry. Really. I was being a dick. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You mutter against him and hold him tighter – but Niall pulls away at your words to stare at the ground, nervous and jittery like you have never seen him. 

“No, it’s – it’s fine. I was a right cunt, can’t believe you didn’t knock me out.” He laughs self-deprecatingly before rubbing the back of his neck. He purses his lips and you can see the way he counts his breath, as if trying to calm himself. “Louis called me.” He drops suddenly and you stand a little shell-shocked in the middle of the doorway like a gaping fish. 

“Oh.” Shit.

“So you and him, huh?” Niall asks and no, not you and him at all. You and Niall, it’s always been you two, doesn’t he see? Haven’t you done enough?

“No, not at all. As much me and him as me and that girl back in L.A.” You try to convince him but Niall still looks so small and so unsure of himself and a horrible pit of guilt settles in your stomach. 

“But you kissed him.” He says, looking up at you through pale lashes. 

“Yeah.” Because you did, you’re not a liar and choices are choices. You don’t regret it because now you know what to do, who it is that you want to be with. Your only regret is hurting Louis. 

“You haven’t kissed me.” Niall complains jokingly and you laugh at him, the way he can go from serious to carefree in an instant and back again. 

“Not yet.”

Niall grins at that and you’re blinded by the way he looks at you, so in love, and oh, you are a lucky soul. Bouncing on the heels of his feet, he looks at you expectantly. “So have – have you… have you…” Niall begins and waves his hand around as if that’ll finish his question for him. But you are clueless and you shake your head wondering what on earth he’s talking about.

“Have I what?”

 

 

_Have you decided, Harry?_

_Yes._

_No._

**Author's Note:**

> ((you can find me [here](http://sailorharry.tumblr.com/))) (:


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